


My Soul is Burning Fiery Red

by eLJay



Series: If You'd Agree to Be My Love [3]
Category: Brave (2012), How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 00:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8349322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eLJay/pseuds/eLJay
Summary: Merida visits Berk for the first time. Set between "I'd Build You a World" and "Eurotrip (Not Like the Movie)."





	

**Author's Note:**

> It's been years and yet I still don't own anything you recognize. And the title, once again, is from "Lady Percy" by King Charles. Cross-posted at FF.net.

“After all,” she said, nails skimming down his side and lips brushing the underside of his jaw, “you’ve seen my home, but I’ve not been to yours yet.”

He raised his hands in surrender.  “You do know I’m not the one you have to convince, right?”

“You’re right,” she said, nodding seriously.  “I should be focusing on what to say to Mum and Dad.”  Merida sat back and withdrew her hands from beneath his shirt.  When she made to rise he stopped her with hands on her hips.  His left thumb dipped below the waistband of her trousers, brushing gently in the direction of her tattoo; she shivered at the sensation.

“Actually, I don’t think I’m totally onboard with this plan after all,” he said, eyes dark.  “I might need a little more persuasion.”

“Oh, aye?”  She grinned and rolled her hips, just a bit.

The effect was immediate: his grip on her tightened and his breathing hitched.  “Aye,” he replied in a low drawl, and she bent to kiss him, hands cupping his jaw and her hair falling around them.

* * *

 Mum and Dad needed less convincing than she was prepared to do.  After letting them ramble on about the fishing in the loch and local furor over the possibility of a wind turbine being erected outside the village, she broached the subject as casually as she could.  “The Haddocks have invited me up to Berk this summer, for their bonfire festival.”  She hadn’t yet mastered the pronunciation of its traditional name.  It didn’t help that there was something intensely alluring about the way Hiccup spoke Old Norse; between the sound of his voice and the way his mouth moved, she never was able to focus enough to perfect her pronunciation.  “Would it be alright if I went?”

There was a significant pause down the line.  Merida could picture the pair of them, exchanging looks over the receiver; Dad would have that worried and slightly helpless expression on his face, while Mum’s eyes would have widened fractionally.  They knew that Hiccup was at school in Glasgow now, and that he spent most weekends with her, whether there or in Edinburgh.  Beyond that, she wasn’t sure what her parents knew with certainty and what they merely suspected about their relationship; they were on the right track, though, because some months ago Elinor had delivered a vague and somewhat superfluous lecture on the importance of protection and respect, both of one’s self and one’s partner.  Merida wondered if the idea of her being in love bothered them more than the idea of her having sex.

“How long would you be there?” Mum asked.

“Ten days?”  Two weeks was too much to hope for.

“That’s too long for a first visit,” Mum said firmly.  “One week will be plenty.”

“Alright.”  She wasn’t in much of a position to argue at this point; they hadn’t agreed yet.  Their approval was more of a formality than a necessity, since she was an adult with some money of her own, but no good would come of it if she suddenly disappeared from the house in the middle of the summer, especially without taking the boys along.  And she wasn’t so independent that she didn’t still cherish her parents’ good opinion.

Fergus sounded more concerned than Elinor.  “And you’ll be staying with the Haddocks?”  Poor Dad, she thought; he liked the other family and thought Hiccup grand, but couldn’t completely feel comfortable with the fact that his baby girl had a serious boyfriend.

“Yes, Da.  They’ve a spare room.”  She would even use it—at least on the first night.

She waited patiently through the ensuing pause, entertaining herself by imagining what her dad’s eyebrows were likely doing; it reminded her of the Cadbury advert and she stifled a giggle. 

Finally her mum said, “I suppose it will be educational,” and Merida broke into a grin.

* * *

As excited as she was about the prospect of visiting Berk, Merida still had her misgivings.  Sure, Mr. Haddock liked her, well enough at least to allow her to stay in his home, and Toothless loved her almost as much as she did him.  But what about Gobber?  He’d helped raise Hiccup; what if he didn’t approve of her?  And what if her being there made Hiccup realize that she didn’t fit into his life?  They were silly fears, she told herself in her best Elinor impression, but that only slightly calmed the sourness curdling in her stomach.

It was imperative that no one ever find out how long she’d spent trying to decide what to wear.  According to popular culture, the dress code for Summer Bonfire with Slightly Pagan Overtones was a long, flowing white dress—more of a shift, really—with bare feet below and a crown of flowers above.  That option had seemed frighteningly bridal to Merida, though, and even if she had found herself daydreaming once or twice about marrying Hiccup, he absolutely could not know that.  In the first place, it might scare him away, and in the second, he would be insufferable about it.  She could just picture the way his expression would soften in tenderness at first before sliding into a self-satisfied smirk.  It was awful how easily she was able to conjure a memory of that smirk, and even more awful how giddy it made her feel.

Luckily, she’d been able to find pictures of the Berk bonfire online.  The flowers were there, all right, and though lots of the girls were wearing dresses or skirts, they seemed to be short and colorful and modern.  Comfortable and flattering wasn’t too much to ask of a dress, but a flip through her wardrobe turned up nothing suitable, and the shops hadn’t been much help either.  Her mother would have been only too happy to help her find something; she would have made a special trip down to Edinburgh for the express purpose of shopping with Merida, and paid for the purchases to boot.  But the prospect of her mum asking awkward, insinuating questions about the trip and her relationship, complete with little winks and nudges, combined with Merida’s aversion to being treated like a living dolly, had kept her from broaching the subject with her parents.  Since she had few close female friends she’d found herself sending an SMS to someone who spent more time studying women’s bodies than anyone else she knew.

He’d responded to her request—calling it such was charitable; it was really more of an order—to accompany her with _Only if I get to come in the changing room with you ;)_

She narrowed her eyes.   _I’ll just forward that to your mum then_

_Meet at the Falconer?_

Jamie’s knowledge of what clothes suited her did not completely make up for his personality.  After exchanging barbs they made their way to the shops of the New Town.

“A trip to his home,” Jamie mused.  “It’s serious between you and your lad then?”

“S’pose so.”

“Do you love him?”

Merida squinted sidewise at him.  The solemnity of his tone was unexpected; a taunt should be lurking just past the tip of his tongue, but his words lacked their usual mocking edge, and his eyebrows were heavy.  It was more comfortable to maintain the status quo of their relationship, however strange it was, so she set her lips at a saccharine tilt.  “Are you jealous of him, or me?”

Seeing him sneer in return was a relief.  “Answer the question, would you?”

Her chin tipped up defiantly.  “I do.”

She’d been ready to defend Hiccup and was surprised to find herself mushed against Jamie’s chest, nose pressed disturbingly close to his armpit.  “Oh, they do grow up so fast!” he sighed, in what was actually a fair imitation of his mother, slight lisp and all.  Her wriggling only made him tighten his grip; yet somehow he was still able to rub his knuckles into her scalp.  “It seems like only yesterday you were paddlin’ round our duck pond naked as the day you were born.”

“Get off me, you wanker!”  She could certainly bite him, but he’d probably like that.  She twisted more, jabbing wherever she could reach, as he talked over her about how time flew and baby birds leaving the nest and similar tripe.  Finally she threw her head back, glared up at him, and threatened, “Let me go or the Macintosh family line will end with you.”  That did the trick; he released her with a slight push as he stepped back, eager to keep his unmentionables out of striking distance of her knee.  He still grinned, though.

She kept her defensive crouch, waiting for him to make another move.  For a moment his expression was unchanged, as stubbornly smug as it ever was; then the glint in his eyes softened and the smirk melted into a smile.  She straightened, feeling uncertain and self-conscious before him in a way she hadn’t for ages.

“I’m happy for you,” he said sincerely.  “He seems a good man.”

“He is.  Thanks,” she added.  Somewhat to her surprise she found herself returning his smile.  It felt strange for a moment, this camaraderie between them; then she stopped thinking about it and stood in the middle of the pavement smiling at one of her oldest friends.

Until he brushed some dust from his bicep and the smirk returned to his face as he said, “He must be, if he can put up with you.”  She punched his arm, but much more softly than she would have otherwise, and not before she’d laughed.

* * *

If asked her opinion on public displays of affection, Merida would vociferously denounce them.  Handholding was fine, and maybe a peck on the cheek, but that was where the line should be drawn.  No one wanted or needed to see a couple with their tongues so far down each other’s throats that it was a miracle they could still breathe; it was a public nuisance and unsanitary to boot.  “It’s grand if you love each other,” she would declare, sounding much more like her mother than she would appreciate, “but you needn’t prove it for all the world to see.”

And if the aforementioned mother or perhaps Jamie were the one asking, an eyebrow would be raised and Merida would be forced to admit her hypocrisy.  She really couldn’t help it; hers was an affectionate and physical family, where bear hugs and kisses were commonplace.  It was natural for her to extend that to her boyfriend.  She truly did try to control herself—though the amount of effort exerted to that effect was inversely related to the length of time she’d gone without seeing Hiccup—but greeting him with an enthusiastic kiss just seemed right.  

In the short walk from the set of stairs rolled up to the plane for the passengers to disembark to the single baggage carousel she realized that it would be impossible to get lost in Berk’s tiny airport.  Despite that, and the fact that only a sparse crowd was waiting to welcome the plane’s arrival, he still held a hand-lettered sign bearing her name over his head.  When she saw him she rushed forward, grinning, and leapt, throwing her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

“Whoa!”  Hiccup dropped the sign to wrap his arms around her.  “Welco—”  His greeting was broken off by her lips on his.  When she pulled back a moment later his face was pink and his eyes unfocused; she giggled, dropped one last peck on his lips, and slid to the ground.

Hiccup cleared his throat and looked around furtively.  A few of the people surrounding them were chuckling, or watching them curiously; Merida knew the island’s population was relatively small, but she hadn’t thought it was a case where everyone knew everyone else.  That might put a damper on things.  “Welcome to Berk!” he said, voice only cracking a little.

“Thanks.  Is that the usual greeting from the welcoming committee?”  Feeling slightly breathless she admired the view as he bent to pick up his hastily-abandoned sign; he turned in time to catch her staring and blushed again.

“I think it depends on the day.  Word on the street is that Leif Karlson is the best kisser.”  

Hiccup took her hand and led the way to the carousel.  A few people called hellos to him and he answered cordially.  The whole thing was odd to Merida.  She’d only ever seen him in Scotland before, but it wasn’t just the change of location; it was the fact that this was his home and she was now the outsider.  She wondered if this sense of vague disorientation and mild unease was how Hiccup had felt upon first arriving in DunBroch or Glasgow or Edinburgh, and decided it couldn’t be.  He always seemed so at ease in himself that his geographical location seemed to make little difference to him.  The urge to shuffle closer and hide her face in his arm filled her, but she resisted, instead squaring her shoulders.  She was no witless bairn who had to be taken care of.  

At the same time, it was nice being with someone who she knew would take care of her if necessary.

After they’d collected her bag she followed him to the exit that would lead to the carpark.  He was nattering on about the car and some modifications Gobber had tried to make to it that hadn’t turned out as expected, and didn’t notice when she stopped just outside the automatic doors.

The lot held some sedans but more trucks and SUVs.  Beyond it were tree-dark foothills, the greenery interrupted by craggy outcroppings.  The sky above was so pale as to be nearly colorless and the sun shone through a haze; at the edge of the breeze there was the faintest coolness, even in the midst of the summer.  Merida raised her head, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath: the air smelled mostly of airplane fuel, though above it was the salt and wet of the sea somewhere in the distance.

Finally realizing he was alone Hiccup turned back toward the terminal, squinting against the brightness.  “The rest of it’s a lot more interesting than the airport, I promise,” he called, extending his hand, “so come on!”

* * *

Though Hiccup had warned her about the car being a project of Gobber’s, she supposed it could’ve been worse.  While most of the body was blue, the SUV had one green door, and when she climbed into the passenger seat—after remembering only just in time that they drove the wrong way round here—the seat bounced ominously.  All concerns were forgotten when a furry head thrust forward from the backseat, and she turned to pet Toothless.  “Hello, mate,” she said, ruffling his ears, and he whuffled softly.  “At least there are two Berkians happy to see me, eh?  Let’s hope you’re not the only two.”  Then Hiccup slipped behind the wheel and they were off.

The trip to the Haddocks’ house likely would’ve taken a bit longer if someone who cared about following speed limits had been driving.  On Berk less than an hour and she was already learning so much, like that Hiccup was a natural behind the wheel.  And despite its apparent age, the SUV had a surprisingly smooth ride and a decent amount of power.  Hiccup shifted gears with well-practiced ease and they slid into a tunnel through a mountain.  In the intermittent flickering of darkness and orange light that filled the car she watched him; it looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a few days and she wondered if that had anything to do with the bonfire, if it was tradition to grow a beard for it.  The question reminded her how little she knew of Berk in general—once she’d bought her tickets she hadn’t bothered to do any research on the place; why should she, when she had her very own tour guide?—but it also made her realize that she didn’t know everything about Hiccup, either.  He seemed almost like a stranger now, and a wave of shyness filled her.

“What’re you looking at?” he asked, sounding amused, his eyes drifting toward her.

“I don’t know,” she murmured.  Before he could reply they left the tunnel and the city came into view for the first time.  It was less rustic-looking than she’d imagined; from a distance she saw the glint of sunlight on glass and steel.

Hiccup slowed as they began to descend the hill.  “What do you think?  Home first?  Or somewhere to eat if you’re hungry?”  His fingers flexed around the steering wheel.  “Or…we could stop by Gobber’s…”

She answered without pausing to think.  “Let’s go to Gobber’s.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Merida nodded, her mouth set in a grim line.  “Best to get it over with quickly.”

He spared her a look as they waited to enter a roundabout.  “He’s going to love you, Merida.”

“But what if he doesn’t?”

Hiccup shook his head.  “Not possible.”  They’d had this conversation before, on the phone and over Skype; his reassurance had been constant, his certainty that she would be beloved in his home unwavering, but her doubt remained.  Gobber’s approval—or lack thereof—would mean more than Hiccup probably realized. 

Despite his confidence he sat in the car for a moment when they’d parked.  One thumb drummed against the steering wheel.  “I’d better go in first,” he said, shooting her a quick smile, “to make sure he’s...all there.”  The door was slamming before she could ask what that was supposed to mean.

A small part of her wondered if maybe she hadn’t ought to wait until he came back for her, but she ignored it.  “Merida DunBroch does not wait in the car,” she said decisively.  A goat the next yard over chortled in reply; she gave it a nod and strode toward the door through which Hiccup had disappeared.

“...nothing to worry about, so keep yer leg on.”  The voice induced the same kind of déjà entendu that Stoick’s did, a feeling of familiarity in this new place.  She pushed open the door as the voice, now tinged with scorn, asked, “Am I decent enough to meet your lady love?”

“I’d say so,” she answered.

Hiccup’s expression was resigned; she arched an eyebrow in return.  Gobber’s twin mustaches whipped through the air as he spun to face her.

“But I’m not a lady yet.”  She extended her hand.  “Merida.”

The last thing she expected was for Hiccup’s mentor to sag into an ungainly bow over her hand.  “Gobber Belch, at yer service.”  After kissing the air above her hand he released it, not lingering awkwardly as was all too often the case.  Somehow the gesture was charming—eccentric and old-fashioned, but ultimately sincere.  “It’s nice to meet you at long last.”

“And you.”

“C’mon, I’ll show you the place.”  She followed as he made his way through the shop.  It was part auto-body workshop and part high-tech robotics lab, with what could easily pass for avant-garde art displayed in one corner.  Gobber threw vague gestures this way and that as they walked, describing projects past and future.  She hardly noticed that Hiccup had disappeared until Gobber pointed out an area where a drafting table and desktop computer were just visible beyond a workbench strewn with papers and bits of machinery; she’d have known it was his space even without the picture of Toothless lying on his back that was tacked to the wall.

Gobber ushered her into a little room where he bade her sit on a surprisingly clean sofa.  An electric kettle was puffing away atop a mini-fridge; the room had a heater and a reading lamp and a few paperbacks slouched on a shelf.  He emptied the kettle into a teapot and produced a plate of biscuits, telling Merida to help herself as he puttered with the tea things.  “How d’ye like Berk so far?”

“I haven’t seen much of it yet,” she admitted, “we came straight here.”

He stopped and turned to her with surprise writ large on his features.  “Before seeing Stoick?” he asked, voice sounding almost strangled.

She gave a one-shouldered shrug.  “Well, I’ve met Mr. Haddock before.  And I know how important you are to Hiccup.  It didn’t seem right to make you wait.”  A pleased pink blossomed in his cheeks, and the final knot of anxiety loosened and disappeared.

“Smart lass,” he said, sitting across from her and pouring the tea.  “I knew I’d like you.”  It was her turn to feel flustered and glad, and she sipped from her mug to avoid having to answer. 

After a moment she’d recovered enough to turn a serious face to him.  “I do need to ask you a favor.”  Eyebrows raised he nodded—though it was clear he was not yet acquiescing.  She went on, “I need you to tell me the most embarrassing Hiccup story you have.”

His “No” was quick and definite, accompanied by a shake of his head, and she was chagrined.  Had she misjudged him, and the situation?  She sat back, at a loss for words, her gaze averted to the biscuits; she almost missed the twitching of his mustache as he said, “If I told you the most embarrassing story now, you’d have no reason to come back.” 

With every passing moment in Berk she understood better how Hiccup turned out the way he had—Gobber’s deadpan delivery was something she’d been on the receiving end of before, albeit from green eyes rather than blue.  She gave a tentative smile.  “Start me off small, then?”

He nodded, and she watched him stroke his chin in thought for a moment.  Then an again-familiar light leapt into his eyes as inspiration struck; he began to talk and she leaned forward to listen and learn.

* * *

Stoick Haddock was just as she remembered him, leaping from where he sat at the kitchen table as they entered.  She was still giggling over Hiccup’s impression of Gobber, and laughed out a hello to Stoick; he returned the greeting, glancing from her to Hiccup, his expression turning thoughtful.  He insisted on giving her a tour of the house, and even stood in front a few of his football trophies for her to snap a photo to send her dad.  His offer to show her the football stadium would, when fulfilled, cause Da even greater textual paroxysms than the simple picture.

After dinner—a perfectly serviceable meal of huge jacket potatoes complemented by an array of toppings—Stoick sized the two of them up before turning to his son.  “How about you show Merida the Mead Hall?” he suggested.

Hiccup’s eyes shifted from Merida to his father and back.  He must have seen the way her eyes lit up at just the name.  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

“I do,” she said brightly.  “It sounds like my kind of place.”

“That’s what I thought,” Stoick said smugly. 

“And that’s what I’m afraid of.”  Despite his grumbling Hiccup stood and stretched.  “Let me get my keys.”  He sauntered out of the kitchen, only to pop his head around the door jamb and regard them suspiciously.  “Don’t get up to anything while I’m gone.”  

Once he had withdrawn again she turned to Stoick with a grin.  “Please tell me you’ve got the baby pictures ready for me to look at later.”  He tipped his beer to her with a wink.

The Mead Hall had been hewn into the side of a mountain.  As he parked she made a clumsy joke about dwarves and dragons; maybe it hadn’t been as awkward as she’d felt it, since he merely chuckled in response.  As they approached it seemed that the whole mountainside was looming above, ready to come crashing down on her, to forbid her from invading.

She paused just inside the door, gazing around as her eyes adjusted to the interior, dimmer than the light outside.  Hiccup moved a few paces ahead before realizing that she’d stopped; her eyes still on the timbers of the roof she reached out for him, fingers wiggling until he stepped back near enough for her to scrabble at his wrist.  “Is this heaven?”

He laughed and slid his hand into hers, squeezing it quickly before letting go.  Side by side they moved further into the pub—though that title didn’t do justice to the enormity of the space.  “You might not think so tomorrow morning,” he said.

There were words that might have been the names of drinks carved on a slab of wood behind the bar, but she didn’t care even to try to read them.  Instead she sought the advice of the bartender.  “What’s good?”

“First time in the Hall?” he surmised.  At her nod he grabbed a shot glass and set it atop the bar between them.  Half of it was filled with a golden alcohol and the other with a clear liquid from an unlabeled bottle.  The glance she snuck at Hiccup revealed little; his expression was impassive, which must mean that whatever drink was being created was not likely to kill her.  This was a test, she realized, but it was one she was confident she would pass.  Merida picked up the shot with a steady hand.

“ _Slàinte_ ,” she said, raising it to her lips and knocking the shot back in one gulp.  It scorched a trail down her throat, spicy and unexpectedly sweet and strong.  She took a deep breath in through her nose, and then another—made easier by the fact that the shot seemed to have cleared her nasal passages.  She was aghast at the feeling of tears gathering in her eyes, and blinked to keep them at bay.

“Mead and dragonsbreath,” Hiccup said.  “They call it the hero’s welcome.”

The scorched feeling in her throat reminded her of the first time Dad had let her try his whisky.  She’d taken a gulp, rather than the sip he’d intended, with predictable results; he’d guffawed at her spluttering, saying, “It’s not a race, lass.  Have a little patience, eh?”  Then, at her watery-eyed scowl, he’d laughed again.  “Ah, you’re too much like your old dad for your own good.”

Her dad wouldn’t be nervous about meeting someone’s friends, so nor should she be.  Especially not in a pub, of all places.  Sure, the Falconer could fit inside this place three times over, if not more, and she was pretty sure one of the jars on the bar was full of the dreaded fermented shark, but it was still fundamentally a pub.  There was loud laughter from one corner, the dry, yeasty smell of pretzels, and the squeak of a rubber-soled shoe in a puddle of unknown liquid—all of it familiar and homey.  A knot of tension in the middle of her back released.

He’d clearly noted the change in her bearing; his smile was brittle and over-bright and around it he said, “Okay you’ve seen it ready to go home?”

“Where should we sit?”  She stepped neatly around him, scanning the room.  

Just as she’d held back her eye-roll, he held back a sigh.  He gestured to a group of rough-planked tables near the center of the space; the benches were occupied by three blonds and a brunette.  “Make yourself at home,” Hiccup said, a shade grudgingly, “I’ll bring the drinks.”

With all the practice she’d gotten at work it was easy enough to ignore the curious eyes watching her make her way across the room.  When it became obvious what direction she was headed the table’s occupants began nudging each other; it was obvious they were not much concerned with subtlety.  Merida plastered a grin on her face as she reached them.

The need for a brilliant opening line was precluded by the brunette half-rising from his bench, one fist planted on the tabletop and a stubby finger of the other hand directed accusatorily at her.  “It’s you!” he cried.  The memory of meeting him at the games came rushing back to her then; at the ceilidh she’d all but ignored him in favor of Hiccup, for reasons still valid.  “He was telling the truth?”

They’d been curious before, but now the others’ gazes took on an unexpected intensity.  “This is her?” the blond with dreads asked.  He looked her up and down, as did the girl who was certainly his sister; their heads moved in unison in much the same way the triplets’ often did.

“Not bad,” the girl concluded.  A smirk did not quite quell Merida’s mild annoyance.

“Hi!” the third blond, hulking and harmless, squeaked.  “It’s nice to meet you, Merida.”

“And you, erm…?”  She cocked her head curiously.

“Fishlegs.”  They shook hands, and he introduced the others: “And this is Ruffnut”—with a wistful sigh over the girl—“and Tuffnut Thorston, and Snotlout Jorgenson.”

“We’ve met.”  Merida nodded at Snotlout, who still looked incredulous.

“Have a seat,” Ruffnut offered, gesturing lazily.  She slid onto the bench next to Fishlegs, the better to keep an eye on the twins. 

“Sooo, Merida,” drawled Tuffnut, making her name sound like it was under suspicion.  “Does the carpet—”

His question was mercifully cut off by the thump of a pair of mugs—tankards, really—against the table.  “Shut up, Tuff,” Hiccup advised.  Though the words were casual, they were sharp-edged.  Tuffnut narrowed his eyes and glanced sideways at Hiccup, but his mouth stayed shut.

Apparently Hiccup’s return left them nothing else to ask her, because Tuffnut turned to Snotlout and resumed a previous conversation.  Merida listened, sipping what was frankly excellent ale, until curiosity won out.  As soon as the boys paused to drink she asked, “Where’s Astrid?”  The way Fishleg’s eyes widened and darted to Hiccup’s face was childishly satisfying.

Snotlout let loose an overwrought, beery sigh.  “She’s camping with her family.”

“She won’t miss the bonfire, though, right?”

“Has she ever?” Ruffnut asked, as if Merida ought to know.  From what she’d heard, she supposed it was a fair point.

Tuffnut shot Hiccup a sideways look before asking, “So what do you do, new girl?”

“For school or work or fun?”

One “School” was barely heard above the chorus of “Fun!”  Without hesitation Merida tilted her head at Hiccup, whose tankard was raised to his lips.  “Him.” 

He choked slightly as the twins guffawed and Snotlout made a noise of absolute disgust, while Fishlegs’ great round face went pink all at once.  Her smirk was no doubt unacceptably smug, but she let it linger for a moment.  Even if Hiccup was trying to glare at her, she knew he was thinking about them now: probably about the most recent morning they’d spent in her flat, about her eyes in the pale light and her fingertips stroking him.  And she was thinking about it, too, remembering the way he moved in her, his quiet gasps, the look on his face when she came apart.  The memory made her chest throb with adoration, and her breath caught.  With any luck neither that adoration nor her desire were visible on her face.

To stave off any embarrassing follow-up questions she started talking about archery, which elicited approving nods across the board.  Hiccup’s friends were right at home discussing anything martial, and the conversation flew, thick with boasts and taunts and raucous laughter, until some rounds of pints later Merida found herself listening in rapt but concerned silence to a rousing debate on the possibilities of ovine aerodynamics.

The others called their goodbyes as they parted ways outside the Hall.  Merida wound her arm around Hiccup’s middle as they walked to the car; there, in the weak glow from a distant streetlight, he turned to her with an apologetic expression.

She knew what he was going to say, or near enough, before he could open his mouth.  “You’ve met the lads I grew up with,” she reminded him.  “You don’t judge me because of them, and I do the same for you.  Right?”

“Right.”  He looked relieved, painfully so, and she remembered his admissions that growing up Stoick’s son hadn’t always been easy or fun.  So she leaned back against the SUV’s door and pulled him close and kissed the taste of hops off his lips.

* * *

As promised she lay in the bed in her guest room, staring up at window, ceiling, and wall in succession as she turned beneath the covers.  When it became obvious that sleep was not coming anytime soon she rose and picked her way slowly down the stairs and to the room she’d seen on her computer screen.

The reception she received there was not welcoming, but not particularly surprising, either.  “Please get out of my bed,” he pleaded.

“Why?”  She snuggled close, winding an arm around his middle.  “Didn’t you miss me?”

She knew the answer to that already; it became even more obvious when she wiggled and he let out a strangled groan.  “My dad is upstairs.”

“Just what are you suggesting, sir?” Merida demanded in mock indignation.  “What kind of woman do you take me for?”

“The kind who sneaks into her boyfriend’s bed in the middle of the night.”  He sounded less terrified now but still hadn’t moved, either to embrace her or to make room for her; she let her hand wander downward, fingertips light against his skin, though when she reached the waistband of his shorts he jumped.  She withdrew her hand.

“Merida.  Please.”

She scowled, careless of whether or not he saw it.  “What are you so worried about?”

“My dad talks to your mom!”  His voice cracked the tiniest bit; if she weren’t so intent on being annoyed she’d find it adorable.

“So?”

“So I want your parents to like me.  And to leave me all my remaining limbs.”  

Her huff elicited a chuckle, and it was then that he chose to roll onto his side and face her.  When faced with his she glared all the harder.

“I love that you couldn’t make it through the night without trying,” he murmured.  It would’ve sounded smug from anyone else, like he thought himself so irresistible that she couldn’t help herself, but Hiccup’s tone was slightly abashed and affectionate.  

It was easier to tell the truth in the dark, where she couldn’t see his eyes boring into her.  “You don’t know what you do to me,” she whispered.  “You’re so…”  Actions never failed her the way words did.  He could talk the sun out of the sky, convince and cajole and joke until she didn’t know which way was up; she preferred proving herself through her deeds, in ways that could not be misconstrued.  But she thought he needed to hear the words as much as she needed to speak them, even as she fought the swooping feeling of her stomach.  “You are brilliant, and kind, and funny, and gorgeous.”  He let out a muffled snort at the last adjective, but otherwise remained quiet, and she went on.  “I think you’ve bewitched me.”

“Oh, really,” he interjected then.  Though his tone was tinged with amusement, there was something dangerous about his low murmur, some primal promise that threatened to render her speechless.

“Like that,” she said.  “You say two words and I can hardly think straight.”  She reached out in the darkness to trace the eyebrow that was raised, just as she’d known it would be.  “You do this, or you give me that smile, or you send me a message just when I need it, and I come undone.  No one’s ever made me feel so helpless and I should hate it, but I don’t.  I just feel lucky.”

All was silent and still for the space of a breath.  Then his lips were pressing against her forehead.  She never could have imagined that the gesture would be anything other than parental, and perhaps even condescending; but here it was transcendentally intimate.  The chilly trickle of fear that had accompanied her confession dissipated, replaced with contentment and a sudden sleepiness.  As the dark enveloped her she heard his reply:

“Me too.”

As little as she wanted to leave when morning began, earlier than she expected, it had to be done.  If he didn’t want to be caught in bed with her, she was going to have to be the one to move, as he was fast asleep.  She moved one heavy arm from her waist and scooted to the edge of the bed.  As she stood Toothless whuffled, a soft, whiskery noise.  It sounded like he was dreaming; but when she looked over his eyes were open, catching the nascent light oddly.  He blinked once, slowly, and let out a long sigh before closing his eyes.  It all seemed very deliberate.  She decided it meant he wouldn’t tell, so she tiptoed toward the door and slipped up the stairs, into a too-cool bed.

* * *

No one could ever claim that Merida was weak—not with a straight face or any amount of conviction.  “Strong-willed” was the most charitable term used to describe her, but “stubborn” the most common.  There’d been more than one book with a title like _Parenting Your Strong-Willed Child_ in their house, though what good it did her mum and dad was debatable.  The last time they’d taken a load of stuff to the charity shop the boys had found a box full of parenting books.  Hamish had looked up from the contents and asked Da, “What if you have another baby?”  His brothers had groaned, and even she hadn’t been able to suppress a shudder at the thought.

“Ah, well, if that happens then we’ll just release the wee one into the woods to be raised as a wild creature.”

“Couldn’t turn out any worse than you lot,” Maudie had muttered, and then put on an innocent expression at Merida’s raised eyebrow.

All the same, her mum had tried to instill some self-control in her eldest child, and Merida was able to say no, even to herself.  But right now she was having a hell of a time convincing herself that she didn’t want this—didn’t _need_ it.  Rather the opposite was happening; as the seconds ticked past the anticipation and yearning grew steadily stronger.  Everything was perfect: they were alone, with bird song filtering through the trees and golden light warming the air.  Even as her mind urged patience her breathing hitched and her pulse accelerated.  She turned to Hiccup, biting her lip.

“Can we…?”

He was already pulling off his shirt.  “Why do you think we’re here?” he asked, grin wide and mischievous.  She returned it and eagerly stripped off her own clothes, dropping them an arm’s length away.  The idiot beside her was actually stretching, one arm bent over the head with the opposite hand on his elbow.  If she didn’t know any better she’d say he was stalling, but he looked just as excited as she felt; and if she really didn’t know any better she’d say he was showing off.  Though she always enjoyed the sight of his lean muscles, he was just wasting time now, and she crossed her arms to wait.

Once he’d done flexing, gave his arms one last swing and dropped them to his sides, he asked, “Ready?”

“Are you kidding?”

“One, tw—” 

Merida took off.  It was just a few steps to the edge and then she jumped, whooping joyously.  She flailed in midair, slowing her fall ever so slightly; it wasn’t close enough to flying, but it would do for the moment.  The cold of the water shocked her and she gasped as she surfaced, just in time for Hiccup to splash down nearby.  Laughing, she shook hair out of her face. 

He came up grinning.  “Again?” he asked.  At her nod he led the way out of the pool, swimming with long strokes to a rocky outcrop; his boxers clung to his thighs and water streamed down his back as he emerged from the pool.  Merida hurried behind, and as soon as they reached the top she grabbed his hand and they leapt together.

Splashing led to kissing, playful and light, their legs tangling together in the water.  Toothless paddled around them as they floated, Merida’s hair haloing her head.  They emerged to collapse side by side on a musty blanket Hiccup had produced, gentle northern sunbeams warming their skin.  “Tell me the bonfire story,” she murmured, and he did, though bless him, Hiccup was no master storyteller; still she closed her eyes and drifted on his words, the Hero of his story appearing behind her eyelids with freckles and a gap-toothed pulse-quickening grin.

* * *

In the days leading up to the bonfire they walked the town, toured the Kill Ring, swam and climbed and jumped; Gobber gave her a beginner’s welding lesson and Stoick introduced her to everyone he knew, which seemed to be everyone who lived in town.  After that first night she stayed in her own bed, content with the canoodling she and Hiccup achieved when his dad was gone to work.

And then, seemingly all at once, it was the day of the celebration.  Enthusiastic singing woke her even before her alarm, though waking was made worthwhile by the scent of pancakes, bacon, and coffee wafting up the stairs.  Despite being forewarned of the early morning, it was still disconcerting to see everyone else already so chipper.  The festive atmosphere stoked her excitement, and soon she was eagerly shoveling food into her mouth, washed down by gulps of strong coffee tasting both slightly burnt and too sweet.

Hiccup had pointed out the site on one of their treks, but it had been nearly empty then.  Now it was busy, everyone at work: chopping wood, erecting the base of the bonfire, dragging grills to the site, emerging from the woods bearing branches and garlands of flowers.  Merida helped unload coolers and bags from the car, eager to prove herself worthy by doing whatever was asked of her.  It wasn’t unlike preparing for the games at home; while there was much to do it was done happily in a spirit of anticipation, of community.  

In early afternoon a woman as stout as Maudie but rather taller drew Merida away from the Haddock-Belch base, firmly but kindly, and led her to the place where young women were assembling wreaths of flowers.  The youngest made haphazard circlets of tiny white blooms, while the older ones fashioned more elaborate crowns.  They worked with the same purpose and joy as they had when stacking wood, and any protest of making flower crowns being too girly died on her lips.  She took a seat near Ruffnut, who was winding long grass around thistle stems.  The blonde spared a glance at Merida, then flipped a little knife into her lap and said, “Use the marsh marigold.  There’s plenty of it, and it’ll go well with your hair.”  It was as warm a welcome from the girl as she could ask for, and Merida got to work. 

Later, her stomach warm from sips of dragonsbreath and head crowned with yellow and white flowers, she ducked into the woods for a moment of quiet and shade.  The woods were really amazing, still dense despite the island’s centuries of habitation.  Someone here must know if the place was protected by statute or simply custom; as she absently tracked the sound she wondered who would be best to ask.  Gobber might know, or Mr. Haddock, or perhaps that Fishlegs.  And off among the trees there was a steady thunk, of decidedly human origin.

She hadn’t been expecting the thwack to be coming from overhead.  Merida paused and peered upward, able to discern amidst the foliage the flash of a blade as it swung from shadow into sunlight, and a bare leg pale as pine beneath its bark.

Before she had the chance to call up, a hatchet spun down and buried itself in the trunk of the tree next to her.  A girl emerged from between boughs, revealed as she shimmied down the tree, agile even as she was obviously mindful of the branch stuck in her belt.  In her sturdy shorts and dark tank top she looked like Lara Croft; Merida could imagine this girl strutting away from an explosion in perfect nonchalance.

“Nice throw.”

She didn’t feign surprise at Merida’s presence; Merida would have thought worse of her, much worse, if she had.  “Thanks,” the girl said, yanking the hatchet free.  With a flick of the wrist she tossed it, and both watched the hatchet twirl blade over handle before returning to her confident grip.  Glacier-blue eyes regarded her for a moment; then the girl extended the hatchet handle-first.  “Want to give it a try?”

They’d be there all afternoon if she did, because Merida would be damned if she left without mastering the throw.  “I’ll stick to my bow, thanks.”

“What, you can’t handle blood on your clothes?”

With a light wave she dismissed the suggestion.  “Oh, that isn’t a problem at all.  It’s simple maths, you see.  A dozen arrows in a quiver, a few seconds to fire each one…”  She shrugged carelessly.  “You can see who’s the more dangerous.”

“I’ll give you that.  But the axe takes more skill to aim well,” she insisted.  She closed one eye and cocked the axe back slightly, as if aiming at one of the trees before them.  “Some people think it’s just brute strength—”

“Idiots, maybe.”  Merida shook her head in disgust.  “Anyone with a brain can see that you’ve got to think about the weight of it, the length, the rotation, and the distance to what you’re trying to hit…”

“Exactly!  It’s like saying the further you pull back the bowstring, the better your shot will be.  Ugh.”  An annoyed exhalation blew her fringe off of her forehead and she rammed the axe handle firmly into the loop hung from her belt.  When she looked up again, her frown smoothed, and her smile was vibrant—bright as her blade.  

An emptiness stole through Merida’s chest.  She wanted this to be Astrid.  And at the same time, she didn’t want it—didn’t want Hiccup to be the reason this woman had ever been sad.  There was no guarantee that Astrid, whether this was her or not, would be so friendly if she knew that Merida was her ex-boyfriend’s girlfriend, and that cast a shadow over her heart.  _We can still be friends_ , she thought _.  You’re brilliant, and we would have so much fun.  Please don’t ever hate me._

At the same time a familiar blaze flared in her, and she recognized it as the feeling of triumph, of knowing that she’d won.  It made her sick, thinking of Hiccup as a prize, thinking of Astrid as a defeated opponent, thinking of both of them not as people but as _things_ to help or hinder her victory.  And yet she loved the rush of pride, loved glorying in her own achievement.  She wondered if Astrid would feel the same way in her place, and knew it didn’t excuse the feeling in the least.

“I’d better get back,” she said, giving a little pat to the branch.  “They’ll be waiting for this.  You coming?”  Her braid swung as she tipped her head back toward the path, inviting Merida to join her. 

She shook her head.  “Not just yet.”

“Don’t be too long!”  She headed toward the path, humming tunelessly as she went; Merida didn’t watch her go, instead huffing out a sigh and running one hand over her face.  Quiet retook the glade when her footsteps had faded, but it was quickly interrupted by a voice calling from the main trail. 

“Oh, and Merida?”  Merida froze, gone chill as a block of ice at the sound of her name, however innocuous the tone.  She made a strangled noise in reply, and the other girl smiled.  “Welcome to Berk.”

* * *

Still dazed, she somehow managed to pick her way through the carousers and straight to Hiccup, clinging to the front of his shirt.  His arms went around her without hesitation.  “Hey,” he murmured.  She could hear the smile in his voice, and felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.

“I don’t deserve you,” she said into his chest.  “I’m sorry.”

“Ha.  And who said I deserve you?”

He let her lean into him for the moment she needed.  The fire-scent already wreathed him, and she imagined them in the past, in the time of the Hero he’d told her about.  It was easy enough to lose track of the century, with his heartbeat below her cheek, the fiddle and drums, the heat and glow of the pyre. 

The night carried on in a blur of more laughter, more music, more drink, all lit by merry firelight.  Gobber told her story after story, each one more outlandish than the last; she loved them all, tried to hold the tales in her memory to tell her family when she got home, and knew that she would never be able to recreate this moment.  When she said as much aloud Gobber bellowed “O’ course not!” and Stoick ruffled her hair, somewhat less gently than he probably meant to, and said, “Guess you’ll just have to bring your lot along next time.” 

Tuffnut’s boasting led to the two of them jumping time and again over a patch of bonfire kept low for that purpose; she joined his friends in roaring with laughter when he realized that his leg hair had been frizzled away by the heat from the shin down.  Astrid was there, too, eyes bright with dragonsbreath, and it wasn’t the same as it had been in the woods.  It would never be the same, she knew, grief a low throb in her heart.

* * *

It must have been around two in the morning.  She sat some distance from the fire, facing away from it, staring toward the unseen horizon.  The dry, thick scent of burning pine needles and well-cured logs drifted warm at her back; in counterpoint the air that caressed her face was cool and damp and salt-laden.  Despite the late hour it didn’t seem anyone had left the party; she’d seen children wrapped up in blankets, fast asleep, their faces aglow in the firelight.  The noise of the celebration had quieted somewhat from its initial roar, allowing her to hear the foaming slap of waves against stone far below.  There were stars out there, sparkling against an inky backdrop of sky.  Her arms wrapped around her knees, Merida let her eyes drop closed. 

For a moment she thought of how she could describe the night to her parents.  Then she abandoned the exercise, for two reasons.  The first was that she couldn’t describe it properly: she would tell them about the music, and the dragonsbreath, and jumping the fire, but it would be a wan, bloodless summary of events.  She couldn’t bring it to life; she couldn’t do justice to the way she felt.  The second was that she didn’t have time now to think about the future, not when she was here. 

Berk felt like...  It didn’t feel like home.  Not like the sight of the glassy loch from her window, or the floating of her stomach as Angus soared over a jump.  It didn’t feel like the star of pride that burned within her, the feeling of possessing and being possessed by the land. 

It felt wild and unsettling and exhilarating.  It made her feel the same way the look in Hiccup’s eyes just before he kissed her sometimes did: ready to catch light, ready to burst and flame and spit sparks and be consumed.  She bit her lip, holding back a besotted smile that no one could see, and shivered. 

If she thought about it at all it was terrifying, really, how she felt about him, how she reacted to his presence and his absence, how she wanted every part of him, body and soul.  She’d never expected anything like this; but then she’d never expected anyone like him, hadn’t thought that someone so contrary and charming could even exist, let alone steal her heart. 

Then, there at the edge of the world, she let go.


End file.
